


Song of Mary

by whichstiel



Series: Season 12 Codas [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Family Feud - Freeform, Feelings, Gen, Season/Series 12, episode coda, hunter!Mary, spn 12x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 20:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: There’s a particular thrill in the snick of a blade. Mary craves it: the weight of a weapon in her hand, muscles screaming, adrenaline singing like joy through her body.





	

There’s a particular thrill in the snick of a blade. Mary craves it: the weight of a weapon in her hand, muscles screaming, adrenaline singing like joy through her body.

Mary despairs. 

She’s in San Francisco, settled on a bench in Golden Gate Park as she looks out over the bay. The fog lifted hours ago, burned away by the sun and now the quiet stillness of the park hanging over the water is broken by a gaggle of people dressed in loose clothing. The press their hands against each other, exchange quiet smiles and soft words, and settle water bottles out in the grass like Easter eggs. Mary’s lips quirk into a half smile. Tai chi. She once stayed with a hunter who did tai chi every morning. A few years later her family found her body - in pieces - in the green-dusted treetops above her home. 

After a half an hour of Mary openly watching the group, one of them approaches the bench. “Do you want to join us?”

Mary almost shakes her head, no, but something in his earnest expression changes her mind. She gets up and joins them. Her mind wanders away from her body in a quest for peace. 

She’s always had a problem with rage. 

Last night she fought a nest of vampires. There were three of them, two of them teenagers recently turned. Mary broke their noses, splintered their arms. She sliced off their young heads and watched them roll unevenly across the floor. Mary grabbed them by their hair, put them in bags, drove them into the Marin County hills, swung their body parts into a bonfire, and watched the skin melt away. Her father wouldn’t be proud. There’s no reward for just doing the job. 

When Mary was young she and her parents spent a few months living with a retired hunter. He used an overhead projector to map out attack plans and when the hunters departed he would let Mary play with it. He kept colored glass, edges carefully taped, near the projector for her. Mary would play with the pieces, arranging and stacking them to create patterned layers of color. Hearts and diamonds and whirled circles projected onto the wall.

Mary used to think of herself like those pieces of glass. She’s a hunter. She loves her family and friends and would do anything for them. And she craves peace. Normalcy. Red, blue, yellow. She used to think of herself in that way - a mix of colors - but then she died. 

Sometimes Mary wakes from dreams where she’s in their old house in Kansas, her family long gone. She feels anchored there, though the house was only transitory - barely a blip in the rest her life. It’s like a tether, always leading her back to Lawrence. Mary wonders if she’s remembering being a ghost. It’s fitting, she thinks, that she ended up a vengeful spirit. She’s a crimson shadow on the world - always has been. 

She closes her eyes and lets the warmth of the sun sink into her bones. Her arms push carefully through the air. Her legs anchor her to the planet. When she opens them again the other participants are opening their water bottles, slipping into relaxed banter. She smiles at them, bows her head in gratitude, and leaves.

Exercise helped the stiffness from the night before and she arrives at the roadside diner Arthur Ketch identified feeling almost energetic. She’s heard rumors of ghouls preying on hikers outside of a southern Utah monument. Ketch claims to have a spray she can apply to her skin that will poison them when they make contact.

“Highly effective,” he says pushing over an unmarked silver aerosol canister. “Provided you survive the initial contact.” He smiles coldly. “And don’t get it in your mouth.”

Mary nods, taking the can and shoving it in her bag. “Thanks,” she says shortly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She sips her coffee and looks over the man sitting opposite, prissily stirring his tea. 

He’s a cold one. But he gets the job done. He’d get along well with the Campbells, generations bred for war against the Supernatural. 

Mary burns hot and she leaves the diner before her coffee cup is empty. She’s got something to kill in Utah, after all. What’s the point of waiting? 

Her hands grip the steering wheel and the scenery unrolls like a paper parchment, abstract and fragile outside of her immediate sphere. She knows her sons think she’s not ready to hunt. But they don’t know her. She’s a hot knife carving across the world. It isn’t possible to be anything else. 

**Author's Note:**

> God, Mary and Dean are alike in so many ways. Except Mary has a lot less hope.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
